


Rusty Nail

by aderyn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Inspired by Music, John is a very good builder, Magical Realism, buildings have a life of their own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 19:00:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gives 221B its heart back.</p>
<p>Safe as rafters and wrecks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rusty Nail

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration from ["This Street, That Man, This Life"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIZ_yUEGux4),Cowboy Junkies, from Black-Eyed Man.

_“That man's soul has left him,_   
_his heart's as deadly as a rusty nail.”—Cowboy Junkies_

 

"I'd like to put it back," John says.

He’s a builder, a carpenter, a fixer-upper. The boards and nails he carries, the hammer, the level around his neck. Sherlock saw at once the roughed palms, the ruined skin of the left thumb.

Sherlock scoffs. A building’s better without a soul. Safer rather. Safe as rafters and wrecks, safe as cells, as places people have left, or will.

“But you live here," John says, sweeps hollow-eyed round the mantel.

_We live here._

**_*_ **

There are cases, constructions, a masterminding.

A tumble into a pit of drywall.

“… the most idiotic structure I’ve ever seen,” Sherlock says, coughs.

“They re-did the first floor,” says John, “buggered the whole damn building.”

Laughter. A click like an old lock.

John takes Sherlock’s wrists, pins him, sees the knots and joints beneath.

Breathes dust onto a mirror.

*****

A street without a soul.  A flat without a heart.

A city without a man.

Sherlock leaps from a roof.

Leaves John the rooms they almost filled, its patterns a sunset.

*****

London’s aged, patina and rust and soot, before he’s home.

John climbs the steps and holds him still.

“How?” Sherlock says.

John takes his hands. Presses them flat to the wall.

A tremor.

Warmth like a window closing.

“Nothing to it.”

_My architect._

He’s always been a builder.

**Author's Note:**

> “This street holds its secrets  
> like a cobra holds its kill  
> This street minds its business  
> like a jailer minds his jail  
> That house there is haunted  
> That door's a portal to hell  
> This street holds its secrets very well
> 
> That man wears his skin  
> like a dancer wears her veils  
> That man stalks his victims  
> like a cancer stalks a cell  
> That man's soul has left him,  
> his heart's as deadly as a rusty nail  
> That man sheds his skin like a veil…”
> 
> More lyrics here: ["This Street That Man This Life"](http://lyricstranslate.com/en/Cowboy-Junkies-street-man-life-lyrics.html)


End file.
